


10am koi no yokan

by animediac



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Snapshots, i am going to fight god and then go back to crying over hinata shouyo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25260187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animediac/pseuds/animediac
Summary: If you get really good, I promise you,Kageyama’s grandfather murmurs in the back of his head,someone even better will come and find you.(a seven year game of hide and seek, brought to you by Kageyama Tobio.)
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 9
Kudos: 156





	10am koi no yokan

**Author's Note:**

> haikyuu 400 and 401 have me thinking a lot of thoughts, which can mainly be boiled down to. kagehina. KAGEHINA.
> 
> anyway this was all written in a day in apple notes in the back of a caravan. please forgive any glaring errors, my thought process was just kagehina parallels and everything else fell to the wayside
> 
> spoilers for hq 400/401 i guess?

_5:51pm, Torono Municipal Gymnasium._

After winning the final tournament of his middle school career, Kageyama rides the bus home alone. Staring at the volleyball in his hands, he tries to remember, with all the seriousness his 14 year old brain can manage, the name of the boy in green who had flown across the court like some kind of bird of prey and then yelled at him outside the gymnasium. 

_I’m going to beat you_ rings like a bell in his head, the image of the boy standing at the peak of the staircase haunting him.

Like some kind of omen.

_6:34am, Karasuno High School Gymnasium._

Hinata Shouyo is a freak of nature. 

Kageyama realises this in their early morning practice, Tanaka camped out in the corner. Hinata flies across the court like a man possessed, boundless energy trapped inside a frame that seems too small for the frenzied passion that explodes out of it. 

The sounds have echoed outwards in the small space of the gym - shoe squeaks and falls to the floor, Hinata tripping over himself every time he tries to receive a ball. In the corner, Tanaka’s booming laugh and voice etch themselves into the wooden panelling and stretch all the way up to the metal fencing on the upper storage balcony. 

The air permanently smells like air salonpas. The wood varnish peels off when you pick at it with a finger. Hinata flies through the air to meet the single toss that Kageyama has allowed him in a fit of anger.

It’s simple. It all becomes something familiar.

Hinata hits the ground with a dull thump, a second after the volleyball has done the same on the other side. It rolls away from them, red and green stripes twisting candy-like before it hits the wall and comes to a stop. 

“Toss again! Kageyama, toss that again!” 

Kageyama wonders if this is finally it, Hinata still bouncing around in his too-big jumper. The shock outweighs the confusion at how Hinata had hit the quick toss, like it was something he was already familiar with. Like it wasn’t something that had cost Kageyama a team and friends and a reputation.

Outside the windows, the sun rises, shifting from purples to orange in the blink of an eye, blurred through the condensation on the windows. Drips of water have cleared patches, and there it is - the glow of morning, golden through the glass. 

Beside him, Hinata continues to leap around. The sun touches the gymnasium and blends with his hair like a signal flare.

 _Someone better will come and find you,_ his grandfather says in his head. For once, Kageyama is on the way to believing it.

_11:12am, Karasuno High School Block 1._

The aftermath of their fight stings like a torn muscle, three layers deep and twinging every time he moves. Kageyama treats it like something that will heal on its own, neglecting to treat it. No bruise creams, no rest for the sore limb. No apologies. No work to fix it.

The pain tugs at him in class every time he hears Hinata’s voice behind him, loud and pointedly not for him. The only time they interact is on the court, curt words and clipped honorifics, and here, now, in front of the vending machine. 

Hinata has frozen with his finger on the buttons, plastic worn from the elements and years of students abandoning their lunches for the snacks and drinks inside the machine. Inside, the coils spin and drop a bag of potato chips into the box below. 

“What do you want,” Hinata asks stiffly, breaking the silence between them. Kageyama points dumbly to the vending machine behind Hinata, who finally remembers he’s in a public place, and steps aside. 

Rather than lope back to class though, Hinata rips open the bag and leans against the concrete wall forming the classroom block, crosses one foot over the other in the long grass. Watches as Kageyama punches in the code for milk, muscle memory, and stays quiet when Kageyama rights, standing up with the cardboard carton clutched in his hand. 

Kageyama feels strangely vulnerable, here - Hinata looks at him as if he can see through him, and there between them is the bruise cream, in arms reach. 

Hinata offers out the bag of chips. 

When Kageyama doesn’t make a move, Hinata sighs, shaking the bag a little. “Do you want some? Otherwise I’ll eat them all.”

Kageyama reaches out as he would with a strangers dog, pins two crisps between his bandaged fingers as Hinata watches, and drops them into his opposite hand. Beneath his feet, the grass is long and dry, in need of a cut, but this spot is so small it’s been overlooked by the caretaker for a decade. 

“Thanks,” Kageyama manages to grit out, and Hinata relaxes a minuscule amount. Just a soft breath, but between them the bruise starts to shift from purple to an ugly green. 

“Meet me in the gym after class,” Hinata throws over his shoulder, and carefully, Kageyama’s muscles start to knit themselves back together.

_7:47pm, Sakanoshita Store._

Kageyama’s fingers are frozen and he puffs on them, warming his breath in his scarf and letting it steam in the air. Inside the shop, Hinata is talking to Coach Ukai about training regimes, the chatter of their voices spilling out onto the veranda with the warmth.

The noise sets a backdrop to the flurry of winter that’s come howling through their second year, the snow so dense you can barely get your feet through it. It collects on his eyelashes and the crown of his head and the classrooms have to keep the heaters running all day or everyone will get hypothermia in the middle of third period math. 

Tonight Hinata will stay at Kageyama’s house, the snow too thick to cycle through, the winds too strong to brave alone, and they will talk volleyball until one of them inevitably falls asleep because of 5am practices. Tomorrow there will be frantic hair brushing and breakfast before practice again; but right now he is standing outside in the cold and Hinata has just walked out with meat buns to share. 

Because right now there is this - warm hands, the blue of Hinata’s scarf bright against the weather worn wood of Ukai’s shop. 

There is this - two pairs of warm hands, Hinata’s woollen gloves scratchy on his winter-numb hands. 

This. 

They take a step into the snow and it memorialises their footsteps.

_6:21pm, Karasuno High School Gymnasium._

With final exams over and nationals far gone, there is little else to do but wait until the summer break. Thursday evening finds Kageyama propped up against the wall in the volleyball gym, rolling a ball between his palms after practice has ended. 

On the floor beside him, Hinata is peeling tangerines, scoring the skin with his nails and dumping the waxy peels in a pile beside him. Third year has changed all of them; Kageyama’s hair, Yamaguchi’s leadership, Tsukishima’s _university plans_ ; but Hinata has grown, more than anything - not so much in height but he is _more_ of himself. It is always a little moment of surprise when Kageyama holds him in the sunlight and finds he is not sized according to his presence. Even here, quietly peeling tangerines, Hinata’s existence is deafening, echoing in the corners of the gym.

He passes Kageyama a half at the same time as he says “I’m going to Brazil for training.”

It’s a testament to the years between them that Kageyama doesn’t drop the tangerine slices in his hand, but he squeezes them a little too hard. The juice drips down his wrist and he lifts his hand to lick up the bone while Hinata continues to ramble, spurred on by Kageyama’s silence. 

“It’s just, I was talking to coach and he has contacts? And I think it’ll be good, because you have to learn to play all positions, basically. And I’ve never been out of Japan-“

“Hinata,” Kageyama says, cuts him off. The wall of the gymnasium is familiar, but the wood is hard and he has to shift to save his back from more pain. “Why does it sound like you’re asking me permission?”

Hinata is a deer caught in the headlights, his eyes less his own and more Natsu’s when Kageyama walked out of Hinata’s room to find her shoulder deep in the biscuit tin. Kageyama waits, expectantly, for his answer. Hinata sighs, and caves. 

“Well, we’re partners, right?,” Hinata edges, careful, like he’s unsure of the fact. “If I leave, then,”

The rest is left unspoken for Kageyama to fill.

“Well I cant have such a weakling as a partner,” he says, mock serious, and Hinata’s squawks, whacks him on the arm.

“So you’d better get stronger and then come back, right?” 

Hinata stills, pausing his incessant peeling. There’s a pile of uneaten slices of tangerine beside him and Kageyama grabs another, bites down into the sweetness as Hinata nods.

“As long as you wait for me.”

“Deal.”

 _I’ll come and find you_ , goes unsaid in the cavernous familiarity of the gym, the light pouring in from the windows, the end of their high school days. 

  
  


_9:59am, Narita International Airport._

“Oh, Kageyama?”

Hinata’s colour is washed out under the airport lights, fluorescent lights draping shadows under his eyes and paling the tan of his skin. It’s terrifying, how quickly someone can become unfamiliar to you. 

But then Hinata grins up at him, phone open to messages in his hand, and it’s like nothing’s changed, except that in ten minutes Hinata will be leaving to the other side of the planet and in three days Kageyama starts his university bridging classes. 

“What are you doing here? All the others are in departures, you must have just missed them!”

Kageyama knows. He wasn’t planning on coming - didn’t know if he could stand watching Hinata leave like all the others were. It was a split second decision, the bus rotation taking him here in enough time to sprint to the customs barriers and hunt for Hinata.

“I was just about to text you,” Hinata is rambling, “what good timing! Nothing less from Kageyama Tobio, right?”

The linoleum is stiff under his feet when Kageyama takes a step forwards, eyes affixed on the phone in Hinata’s hand. It’s easier than the alternative, easier than looking up at Hinata’s face and talking to him like that.

“Here,” he finds himself saying, hand outstretched. “You’re such an idiot, I can’t believe you don’t have a case on your phone with how often you drop it.”

Hinata’s hands stutter for a moment in confusion, before reaching out over the metal fence that separates them for the milk carton-shaped phone case that Kageyama is holding out.

“Oh, thanks! This is a little too cute for you though, dontcha think?”

Kageyama barely responds, paying more attention to the air conditioning than what Hinata’s saying. He’s sure he should be scowling at the comment, making a sharp comment to match it, and then Hinata will laugh, bright and loud, and it will all be back to normal. 

But here they are, on opposite sides of the customs barrier, and normal is a high school memory, nostalgia already thick in their veins. 

Over the loudspeaker, a lady announces, staticky, that the JAL flight to Rio de Janeiro is about to finish boarding. She repeats herself in English, and then in another language that Kageyama doesn’t recognise, but by the way Hinata’s face screws up trying to translate it, must be Portuguese.

“Well, I should get going,” Hinata says, a little panicky at how close he’s apparently cutting it for boarding. “Seeya Kageyama! I’ll text you when I land!” Even with the wave his eyes are strained, and Kageyama can tell how nervous Hinata actually is. Years of court plays and practice, last minute exam cramming, has attuned him to the micro expressions on Hinata’s face.

Kageyama doesn’t let his own nervousness show, just nods when Hinata turns to leave, the whole spectacle ridiculously anticlimactic.

It’s a sign of trust, Kageyama thinks, as Hinata walks away through the boarding gates, his ridiculous cartoon charms and _omamori_ dangling off his backpack. To let someone walk away and pray that they come back.

_2:16pm, Galeão International Airport._

The Rio arrivals gate greets Kageyama with a wave of humid air, enough that he’s convinced his hair’s already begun to curl, and a brightly coloured poster telling him in English to ‘Enjoy your time!’ Or at least he thinks that’s what it’s saying. God knows he barely passed English in high school. 

The crowd moves around him as he searches through the horde of people greeting loved ones, family, friends, their taxi drivers. For a moment Kageyama panics, wondering if he’s forgotten, but calms himself.

 _He’ll come and find you,_ Kageyama thinks, believes. When he looks through the sea of people a second time, he spots red hair and grins. Not if he finds him first. 

When Hinata spots Kageyama in the arrivals bay, he yells Kageyama’s name loud enough to startle the lady beside him, before sprinting for him and leaping. Always running. Always jumping. 

It’s just the speed of his run that changes. The height of his jump. Kageyama feels wiry arms wrap around the back of his neck and he has to let go of the handle of his suitcase to support Hinata under the thighs. Hinata’s skin is heated and sun-baked where he comes in contact with it, stark contrast to the frigid temperature of Kageyama’s own skin, cooled from 27 hours of airplane air conditioning.

“God, you’re heavy,” Kageyama has to huff, struggling to keep Hinata upright, arms straining under the weight. “What have you been _eating_ over here?”

Hinata laughs, bright and sun bitten, hopping down when Kageyama stumbles again, his feet finding purchase on the linoleum of the floors. Above them, the crisscrossing white bars watch, the supports reaching down to the floor like they’ve put down roots.

 _Have you changed?_ Kageyama thinks, _is this home for you now? Is this where your roots are?_

His questions are answered when Hinata grabs Kageyama’s reaching hand, callouses and bandages brushing against each other when he links their fingers together. It seems even countries won’t end this, this connection, this constant searching for each other in the in between. 

Have you changed?

What a ridiculous question, he thinks to himself, squeezing Hinata’s hand back and bending down to press dry lips to his forehead. Everything does. All that matters is that the hearts stay the same.

_5:19pm, 416-1152a, Ikebukuro._

In the late afternoon light, practice been and gone, Hinata has his face pressed into Kageyama’s thigh, fabric of his shorts giving way where soft skin meets them. Beyond the noise of the radio playing a weather report, the clatter of Tokyo rises above the heatwave. 

Kageyama’s heart is heat-softened and drowsy in the same way they both are. Beneath his arm, drenched in sunlight, Hinata makes a small noise; content, quiet.

Everything blurs together like a mirage. Like wading through a sea of syrup, sickly sweet and thick, slow. Something dreamlike. 

His reverie is broken with movement on his lap, the patches of heat on his knees shifting to his lower stomach. Hinata moves like a house cat, twisting in Kageyama’s arms in that way he always does to stretch out his muscles, rolling over to look up at Kageyama; eyes blown out golden in the sunlight. And this is one of the times Kageyama wonders how he’s allowed to see this Hinata; not the loud, energetic, burning persona the world is shown everyday, but this private display of calm. Warm affection. 

He watches as Hinata’s mouth curves around silent words, lips quirked up in a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. The juice from the mango slices on the table in front of them shines across his lips, sticky and glossy to the point Kageyama runs fingers over them. He can feel a buzz when Hinata laughs, the vibrations soft on the callouses of his fingertips. 

The moment is broken when Hinata pokes at his cheek, short nails scratching lightly at the skin. “What’re you doing?” he laughs, sticky and sweet around the fingers on his lips. “Kageyama, you’re so weird.”

And _ah. So this is real._

No mirage, no dream. Just steady reality, trickling on, second after second.

_3:49pm, Sendai Kamei Arena._

Out of the showers, standing in the corridor after the MSBY Black Jackals have won match point against the Shweiden Adlers, Kageyama remembers standing on a staircase as a child and having a promise thrown at him by a midget in green. 

_Going to beat you going to beat you going to beat you_ spins in circles in his head as Hinata approaches him with a tired grin and his uniform bag slung over his shoulder. At home there is a soft bed and a warm shower and twin letters from the Japan Olympic volleyball team sitting on the kitchen table.

Hinata tucks himself under Kageyama’s chin when he reaches him, rests his forehead on his shoulder and lets out a puff of breath that sounds like “Tobio.” Even though he’s exhausted from the match, Kageyama can feel the thrum of energy that lives under Hinata’s skin, something never ending, a spark always lit. 

Time doesn’t ever stop for the two of them - they move too quickly for it to. If someone had ever tried to get a photo all they’d see in the viewfinder is fuzzy colours, motion blur from action. Constant, moving. But at times like this it slows, a gentle current of energy, electricity.

“Home time?” Hinata asks tiredly, private love bleeding out into public. Between them there has always been little need for words, and so Kageyama just tugs him forward a little, a happy hum in response.

 _If you get really good, I promise you,_ Kageyama’s grandfather murmurs in the back of his head, _someone even better will come and find you._

“Found you,” Kageyama whispers into the crown of Hinata’s head, the red giving way to gold in the early afternoon.

On the wall, a clock ticks over.

Neither of them pay attention to it, and the hallway is long, and quiet, and continuous.

**Author's Note:**

> haruichi furudate i would die for you, you funky little man!!
> 
> come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/animediiac)! comments and kudos keep me fed!


End file.
